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Fanfiction Fridays: The One Where the Master is an Octopus(!)

Okay, first of all, let me say I’ve been meaning to use this story for a Fanfic Fridays for months, but I can never find it in my seemingly-thousands of fanfic bookmarks, and ‘Let the Fire Somehow Get In’ is a bit of a serious-sounding title for a fanfic where the Master is an octopus. This time I just went to AO3 and searched octopus until I found it.

So here’s what I love about this fic: it is crackfic done extraordinarily right. It is funny because it is presented in such a serious and straight-faced way. It never breaks down and laughs at how silly it is. It just presents the reader with a ridiculous situation and lets the reader come to the realization that it is ridiculous.

The premise is this: The Doctor receives a message from a mysterious source, and dumps Amy and Rory off on a romantic ‘vacation’ so he can go investigate. When he picks them back up, there is another person on board the TARDIS: the Master. But he is, for some reason that stymies even Eleven himself, an octopus.

This idea has the potential to be mind-blowingly stupid, but instead it’s just perfect and hilarious, because the writing is so good. It’s told from Rory’s POV, and Rory’s inner monologue is just so in character, and the Doctor’s relationship with the Master meshes so well that you stop for a second and think: “If the Doctor ever found the Master and the latter was an octopus, this is actually exactly what would happen. He would melancholically hand-feed him crabmeat and wonder about the ethics of trying to turn him back.”

At this point my review is probably longer than the fic itself, so I’ll stop talking and give you a link instead. Without further ado, Let the Fire Somehow Get In by Snow. Enjoy!

About Lady Saika

"We lead frantic lives. Filled with needs and responsibilities, but completely devoid of any actual purpose. I say let’s try to enjoy the simple things. Life should be like a basket of chicken wings: salty, full of fat and vinegar, and surrounded by celery you’ll never actually eat, even when you’re greedily sopping up the last viscous streaks of buffalo sauce from the wax paper with your spit-stained index finger. Yes, that is as life should be, Night Vale."